Tsuga sat in her room, sword and dagger laying before her on the small bed where she had slept for the past five years. It was incredible that she had been here so long, and looking back, she couldn’t see a moment of it that she would have traded for anything else in the world. Except, perhaps, to have her father whole and healthy again. She drew the sword out of its scabbard and set it across her knees, running a finger along the middle of its flat blade. It was a fairly heavy weapon, not what anyone would consider a dainty feminine piece. She could still almost feel the indentations her father’s fingers had made in the worn leather wrapped around the hilt, though it had been replaced countless times since his death.

The blade was well-maintained – she saw to that. Since it had been returned to her, she had resumed her daily rituals of polishing, sharpening, and general upkeep of all of her weapons, rubbing oil carefully into the dry leather of the hilt and scabbard. Removing the whetstone from its covering, she set it against the edge of her sword and stroked it down its length slowly. These little rituals often lulled her into an almost hypnotic state, the regular rasping of the stone against the smooth cold steel emptying her mind of everything else.

She wasn’t sure how much time passed as she sat honing the edges of her sword and dagger, but eventually, she was satisfied with the bite they held and slid them both back into their coverings, replacing the stone under her mattress, where she tended to store such things. Content, she stood and buckled on the belt over her slim waist, letting it settle comfortably against her hips – a familiar weight that she could scarcely imagine life without.

Her years at the Tower had changed her inwardly, but her appearance was shockingly the same. Her hair had been allowed to grow while she had been an Aethan’Tar, but mere minutes after the return of her dagger, she had shorn it once more to her preferred length of two or three inches. It was choppy and uneven, much as it had been on the day she arrived. Her skin was tan, and the hard work of a Trainee had honed her body into a deadly weapon, even more so than it had been before.

When she had arrived, Tsuga was a child – barely sixteen, in fact. And, though she still looked much the same, there was a definite air of maturity and confidence about her that came quite simply with age and experience. But of course, none of this was on her mind as she stepped through the door and emerged outside. She was thinking only of the day ahead of her, and of where she needed to be.

OOC: I don't know about you guys, but I'm not going to just sit idly by and wait for our two months to be up. I'm going to enjoy the WOTRP to its fullest while I still can. Anyone else who wants to show Joni and all the Officers from over the years how much we appreciate their hard work is welcome to join me - otherwise, I'll just write to myself.